I Really Should Lock the Door
by seaofwords
Summary: Season One, after episode four, but before the flower show. Mary finds yet another unexpected visitor in her bedroom, but this one will be sticking around in her life for the foreseeable future...
1. Chapter 1

For the second time in her life, Mary Crawley found an uninvited man in her bed.

The circumstances were quite dissimilar, although she was shocked all the same when she opened the door to find Matthew Crawley passed out, sprawling on her bed. For a moment the sight of his body lying motionless there brought back the horrific memories of that traumatizing night, but then she noticed the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, and her fear soon morphed into exasperation.

What on earth was he doing here, anyways?

It was nearly midnight, after all. Matthew had come up from the village for dinner that night all alone, as Cousin Isobel was away visiting friends in Manchester, and Mary's parents insisted he simply had to eat with them that night. God forbid he spend the night alone! God forbid Cousin Matthew be forced to suffer! Mary supposed he had disappeared sometime after dinner, but she hadn't really minded his whereabouts; after all, it was just Cousin Matthew. She had supposed he had slipped off for an early night home to go work on whatever dull, trite paperwork lawyers must busy themselves with, or even maybe gone for a drink in the village.

She had never imagined he had left for her bedroom!

Mary closed the door and stared at him, trying to decide what to do. She had already changed into her dressing gown and dismissed Anna for the night. Looking around her room, she quickly grabbed a shawl and pulled it on, trying to make her state of dress a bit more proper.

The question was, what to do with Matthew. Even once she had roused him (which she had every intention to do; there was no way he was forcing her out of her bed just yet!) she wasn't entirely sure he could leave the room. The haunting words of Mr. Pamuk echoed back to her- she'd be ruined if she was caught with a man leaving her room, especially with the rumours already flying around London. Besides, as far as she knew, everyone already believed Matthew Crawley had returned to the village, so the sight of him anywhere in the house was bound to raise questions. Oh well, perhaps Matthew would have an idea. He claimed to have gone to Cambridge, after all.

Mary approached the bed and then hesitated. He looked so peaceful, lying there, and for once Mary had the luxury of examining his face without being the scrutinized by others. He was rather, handsome, she reluctantly admitted, eyeing the way his downy, golden hair fell in messy locks over his face. Although she couldn't see his stunningly blue eyes, the knowledge of their existence added to his appeal. His soft lips were curved into half a smile, and she wondered for a moment what he was thinking about. Then Mary caught herself, and shook her head, chiding herself. There was no way Matthew Crawley was attractive! Quickly she set about attempting to wake him to break the spell.

"Matthew!" she hissed close to his ear. No response.

"Matthew!" she tried again. Tentatively she reached out and shook his shoulder slightly. "Matthew!"

"Mmm," he hummed slightly, but showed no more signs of being awake.

Mary decided to try a different tactic, moving her hand to his cheek. "Matthew Crawley, wake up!' she rubbed his cheek, and then somehow, almost of its own accord, her hand slipped into his golden hair. God, it was soft. She ran her hand through it for a minute, and suddenly Matthew's whole body shifted as he let out a contented sigh. Mary jumped slightly, before again intoning, "Matthew!"

"Mmm, Mary, my darling," he moaned, his voice a low purr as he smiled more and shifted closer towards her. Mary shivered from the unexpected sound and blushed at the surprising term of endearment.

"I'm not your darling! Matthew Crawley, wake up right now!"

"Mkayyyy, Mary, my love."

Feeling her blush rise higher, Mary cried in indignation as loudly as she dared, "Matthew Crawley, arise this instant!" And she smacked him.

"Ow!" cried Matthew, his eyes immediately snapping open as he began to massage his face. He blinked blearily three or four times, before suddenly springing upright and awake. "What on earth?"

"What on earth, indeed, Matthew Crawley?" Mary inquired, placing her hands on her hips.

"Oh God, Mary, I'm so sorry! Things have been very stressful at work, and I haven't been getting much sleep, and I suppose I just lay down for a second…"

"In my room?" Mary countered.

"I didn't know it was your room, it was just the first room with a bed that I happened to find!" Matthew replied sheepishly and a tad defensively, although he refused to meet her eyes even as the pink rose in his cheeks.

"Really, Cousin Matthew, of all the ungentlemanly things you've done since I've met you…"

"We don't need to make a big deal about it! I'll just be going now!" Matthew snapped, straightening his rumpled jacket and attempting to smooth down his gloriously disheveled hair.

Mary forcefully ripped her eyes away from it before retorting. "Well you see, Mr. Crawley, you can't just waltz out of here, since it's way past midnight and I'll be dead if anyone catches a man leaving my bedroom! So now we're in quite the predicament!"

Matthew stared at her for a second before replying in an unfamiliar voice, "I suppose I'll just have to stay here until morning, and then pretend I dropped in early to talk to your father about estate matters."

"Staying here does, unfortunately, seem to be the best option. I suppose the only person who might wander in would be Anna, and I can easily explain to her, as long as I don't get any other unexpected visitors," Mary mused, glaring pointedly at him.

"Really, Mary, I'm terribly sorry," Matthew apologized again, although his remorse was seeming less and less sincere each time.

"Yes, well, I shall try to pretend that matters. Anyways, we should probably get ready for bed."

At the sight of Matthew's eyebrow raising and slight smirk, Mary felt herself begin to blush. "I mean, prepare to retire for the night! Honestly, Mr. Crawley, I can't believe you'd even begin to suppose otherwise. And you will be sleeping on the divan. There's a quilt over there that you can use. And not one more word!"

"I said nothing," Matthew retorted, the clear amusement in his voice irking Mary.

"Good. Keep it that way!" Mary replied, turning away quickly. Clever, charming Matthew was not something she felt like dealing with right now. She quickly pulled off her shawl and hopped under the covers. When she turned around to again look at Matthew, he had just shrugged off his waistcoat and was beginning to unbutton his dress shirt.

"What on earth do you think you're doing?" she called out, watching with alarm as he exposed more and more of the oddly tantalizing skin of his throat.

"Getting ready for bed," he replied nonchalantly, entirely engaged in his task. His shirt now hung open, and Mary felt a shiver run through her body as she glimpsed his broad chest, even as his attention shifted to trying to undo his cuff links.

"This is absolutely improper!" she squealed, although she couldn't decide what was more embarrassing: the fact that Cousin Matthew was disrobing in her room, or the fact that she was uncontrollably enjoying it.

"Firstly, nothing about this situation is 'proper' as far as 'your people' are concerned, although I can assure you nothing untoward is going to occur. Second off all, there's no way you can expect me to sleep in that blasted suit all night long. It's already dreadfully uncomfortable, and poor Molesley would have a field day when I returned with it."

"Fine, but your… your pants stay on." Mary felt her face heat up at the words even as Matthew's blue eyes bored into hers, amused. "And since when was he 'poor Molesley'?" she snapped, trying quickly to break the odd spell and end the strange moment.

"What? He's a man as well. Who am I to deny him his employment?" Matthew responded, settling himself awkwardly on the divan that was to be his bed for the night. Even from her own bed, Mary could see how stiff and far too small it was for him. She tried to remain indifferent as he shifted uncomfortably; what other options did he have?

"Perhaps you are adjusting to our way of life, after all," Mary commented.

"Perhaps I am," came Matthew's reply from the sorry lump of blankets on the divan.

The pair lapsed into silence in the darkness, and Mary shivered again, this time from the actual cold (as opposed to the appeal of Matthew). After she had endured this shaking for a minute, she cursed, "Damn!"

"My, what a word, from the ever so proper Lady Mary!" Matthew called in feigned horror.

"Don't mock me, not when it's your fault!"

"Now what's my fault? Honestly, I'm starting to think I have a doppelganger for all of the trouble I supposedly cause." Although she could not see him properly, Mary was sure he was rolling his eyes.

"Now there's a terrifying thought. Anyways, it's your fault that I forgot to call for a bedwarmer tonight, and now I'll freeze to death."

"Don't worry, I'll get you a bedwarmer."  
"Absolutely not! Did we not just discuss how it's impossible for you to leave my room, especially to go inquiring for services for my bed?" an agitated Mary reprimanded him.

"Really, it's no problem at all. I have one right here."

"That's ludicrous," Mary responded flatly, although now she was intrigued. He had to be bluffing. There was no possible way he had any sort of bedwarming device on his person. Especially considering the fact he was naked from the waist up. There was certainly nothing up there, except his broad chest, rippling muscles, and strong arms...

"I'll show you," Matthew responded mischievously, drawing closer, before suddenly pulling back the covers and slipping under them.

"Matthew Crawley what on earth are you doing? Get the hell out of my bed right now!" Mary screamed as loudly as she dared, quickly sliding to the opposite of her bed.

"Shhh! Be quiet! Honestly, what kind of vagabond do you take me for? Just because I'm middle class doesn't mean I have no morals! I have no intentions but this will be warmer for both of us, and frankly, much more comfortable than a divan!" Matthew responded.

Mary eyed him skeptically for another moment, ready to bolt at any movement, but as he stared imploringly at her with his irresistibly blue eyes, she felt some of the tension leave her body. Additionally, she was already feeling warmer from his close proximity. Much warmer, in fact…

"Fine, but you stay right there, you hear me? No moving closer, and certainly no touching me!" she responded strictly.

"Of course. Cross my heart and hope to die, otherwise!" he responded solemnly, although she thought she detected a hint of playfulness in the words.

"Fine. Good night, Cousin Matthew," she responded, scootching a tad closer towards her original location before rolling so her back was to him.

"Good night… Mary," he answered softly as he turned the light off.

Mary stared into the darkness, trying to contemplate how on earth one was supposed to fall asleep when hot, shirtless Matthew Crawley was lying inches away from her in her bed. Especially after the words he had let slip earlier...

_Chapter 2 will probably go up to M, just saying ;) I'll try to get it up later this week, after I finish (avoid) writing college applications some more..._


	2. Chapter 2

_Hello, all. I had originally only intended this story to be at most two or three chapters, but after your enthusiastic responses and my own desire to pursue creating a lengthier fic, I found myself planning something quite a bit longer. Thus, this chapter isn't what I originally had planned. I felt like Matthew needed a bit more of an introduction since I'm writing him a little differently than in the show, and we are going to be with him for quite a while now. I still did throw in some smut, because I promised, and there will be more to come in the future. I'm already halfway through the next part, and I would have published it too, but I didn't think it exactly fit with this chapter. Sorry! It will be up soon. With that, please enjoy._

To say that it had been a long day for Matthew would have been an understatement. He had had to wake up early to see his mother off at the train station. He had slipped home afterwards to get a quick nap, and subsequently was almost late to work. When he finally did get there, there was an entire mountain of paperwork waiting for him. Apparently the firm had taken on a large, new case involving several companies which were trying to merge, and there was positively an ocean of contracts and regulations to sift through. Matthew had returned home wearily, ready for an early, quiet night, when he had received Lord Grantham's phone call inviting him to dinner. He had tried to politely reject the offer, but the earl sounded so enthusiastic about the proposition that he couldn't bring himself to crush his spirits.

He had to admit, dinner had been delicious. It had been pleasant to have company to share it with as well, especially with Mary looking so lovely tonight…

However, after the meal had concluded, Robert determinedly had locked him in conversation about "estate matters" for at least another two taxing hours. During this time, his cousin also managed to consumer several pitchers of port, which he also continued to push towards Matthew. Although he had consumed maybe a third of the alcohol the older man had indulged in, the lack of sleep and the drug had left him feeling quite out of it. When Robert announced that he was retiring to bed without going through to the drawing room, Matthew had been quite relieved, sensing the opportunity for his escape. After observing Robert's staggering attempts to exit the room, though, Matthew felt obligated to walk him to his bedroom; there was no way he could be trusted with the steps in that state, and Matthew had no desire to become the Earl of Grantham just yet. Thankfully, despite his inebriated state, Robert still managed to lead the way to his chambers, and after seeing him safely in the door and ringing for Bates, Matthew finally believed he could leave. However, his venture with Robert had led him to an entirely unfamiliar portion of the house. Consequently he found himself quite lost.

Matthew wandered for a little, too embarrassed to call a servant for help at this late hour. Besides, the journey hadn't been that long. He'd find his way out soon enough.

After continuing down several dark corridors, he began opening doors to try and get a sense of which section he was in at least. The first few rooms had been completely dark, and he didn't have the patience to search for a light, so after squinting into them, he continued on.

The room behind the fourth door was illuminated, and as glanced in at its dark burgundy walls, he just knew, somehow, that it was Mary's. Perhaps it was the regality of the finishings, or the gentle scent of her perfume, or simply intuition…

Matthew, heartbeat pounding, hand clenching at the brass knob, pondered what to do with this discovery. The hallway was completely empty, and although he had no idea of when the ladies would be coming up from the drawing room, the opportunity presented itself now. He might never have another again. Just a peek, Matthew thought, slipping inside quickly. He shut door as he slid through the gap, and exhaled.

So this was the great Lady Mary's bedroom. Matthew turned around in awe, taking in every detail: the day dress hanging on the outside of the wardrobe, the string of pearls on the dresser, the blanket piled slightly messily on the divan in the corner. He smiled at the book of Greek mythology perched atop her writing desk.

Eventually, the excitement of his initial discovery wore off, and Matthew again felt the effects of his exhaustion. Mary's bed caught his eye so deliciously, forbiddenly… Perhaps if he just lay down for a minute, he could recuperate enough energy for the walk home… He flopped down on top of the duvet, and let out a sigh.

…

"Matthew!" Mary cried as he thrust completely into her in one smooth, powerful motion. The feel of her so mind-shatteringly tight around her sent him to the brink of blissfully out of his mind. He let out a moan, even as she writhed beneath him, her soft body arching up against his. Matthew withdrew before slamming into her again, inciting further passionate cries from both of them at the marvelous sensation.

"Matthew! MATTHEW!" she called his name ever more desperately. Again Matthew pulled out. He paused for as long as he could bear before sliding into her at a deliriously slow pace, driving both of them mad. Her fingers wound into his hair and pulled his mouth against hers in a forceful kiss, stifling his moans.

Breathlessly, he broke the contact. "Mmm, Mary, my darling," he purred, slowing increasing the pace at which he rocked their hips together.

Suddenly something painfully and abruptly smacked across his face, and Matthew's eyes sprang open to see Mary again, this time above him, fully clothed, and looking none too happy. _Oh. God. What have I done?_ he thought. Mortified at the possibility that he had vocalized his latest vision, he began furiously stammering an apology. "Oh God, Mary, I'm so sorry! Things have been very stressful at work, and I haven't been getting much sleep, and I suppose I just lay down for a second-"

"-in my room?" Mary's question hit him like a second smack.

Oh God, how was he supposed to answer that. _Sorry, Mary, I just popped into your room because I'm utterly infatuated with you, perhaps more so than I thought, considering I just had an extremely erotic dream about you, and anyways I was just curious…_

Somehow he didn't think that would go down well.

Of course, his lie wasn't much better received, considering he couldn't even meet her eyes, but he still deemed it wiser than the truth.

"Really, Cousin Matthew, of all the ungentlemanly things you've done since I've met you…"

"Ungentlemanly." Ha. If she only knew the half of it… Matthew stood quickly, straightening his clothes, tugging subtly at his pants and jacket to hide the evidence of his remaining arousal, which didn't seem to be decreasing at all, much to his discomfort. The sooner he escaped her presence, the better, so he leaped at the chance to make his exit.

"Well you see, Mr. Crawley, you can't just waltz out of here, since it's way past midnight and I'll be dead if anyone catches a man leaving my bedroom! So now we're in quite the predicament!"

Her voice cut through his reverie even as it expanded it, when the implications behind her words hit him.

He couldn't leave.

"I suppose I'll just have to stay here until morning, and then pretend I dropped in early to talk to your father about estate matters."

Stay here. With Mary. In her bedroom. All night.

The thought was terrifyingly thrilling.

Of course, he didn't expect anything to happen, certainly not to the extent of his fantasies, but he wouldn't be opposed to something transpassing. He would certainly never force her, but perhaps she could be encouraged, he thought, as they continued their playful banter.

When he began stripping away his stifling suit jacket and undoing the buttons of his shirt, he glimpsed, out of the corner of his eye, her eyes wandering admiringly over his frame.

Perhaps she was very interested.


	3. Chapter 3

Mary awoke in the middle of the night. The event did not surprise her; it had been a common occurrence since the weeks following "the incident." What did surprise her, however, was that for once she didn't feel alone and scared in the darkness, shaken from blissful unconsciousness yet again by the haunting corpse which had lain here. No, for once, she felt... Safe. Within the window of silver moonlight she could see Matthew's pale, sinewy arms around her and feel the warm reassuring solidness of him against her back.

It was nice. So, so much nicer than she wanted it to be. He was so much nicer than she wanted him to be.

Her mind drifted back to a conversation a few days ago, where her mother had yet again urged her to marry Matthew. _"Please, Mama, as if I could ever enjoy being his wife!"_ she had exclaimed, rolling her eyes and exiting the room dismissively.

But now, in the middle of the night, with the rest of society and her family and all the judging eyes which fixated on her every choice, closed in sleep, she allowed herself to wonder about it.

Matthew Crawley's wife would get to hear his ridiculously sensual voice every night before bed, teasing her and admiring her.

Matthew Crawley's wife would get to watch his long fingers slide open the buttons of his shirt every night, and see him peel away his dress to reveal that broad, toned chest and dark dusting of gold hair trailing downwards…

Matthew Crawley's wife wouldn't have to instruct him to leave his pants on, for form's sake.

And Matthew Crawley's wife would get to lie in his warm, strong arms, every night, feeling wonderfully removed from, yet not alone in, the world. Instead she would enjoy the feel of his slightly rough chin against her shoulder, his warm, even breath tickling the sensitive skin of her neck, and she indulged in the simple pleasure of hearing him breathe. She could lose herself in the sensation of his heartbeat pounding in rhythm with hers against her back, and she wouldn't have to restrict herself to sensing its beats through the cloth of her nightgown. Matthew Crawley's wife could lie skin to skin with him, and lose herself in the secure, optimistic hopefulness which permeated every fiber of his being, and which he enveloped her in as his arms encircled her.

It had been a long time since Mary had been truly, genuinely, hopeful.

And yet…

Matthew Crawley didn't want her as his wife. He had made that abundantly clear from the beginning, hadn't he? _"They're clearly going to try to push one of the daughters at me…"_

She could not resign herself to want any part of him if he held no hope of wanting her.

And yet…

What about tonight? Those words she had heard slip from his lips.

_"Mary, my darling… Mary, my love…"_

He had been dreaming, certainly, and yet all dreams had to spawn from some seed of truth, didn't they? Or did they? It seemed absurd for Mary to base the entirety of her belief in the reversal of his attitude on some half-whispered words from a dream. There was no other proof of the matter.

Or was there?

All this time, Mary had been focused on the compassion resonating from the feeling of Matthew's upper body entwined about hers. Now, though, as her thoughts shifted away from that topic, she suddenly became aware of the feeling of something warm and hard pushing into the back of her upper thigh. It wasn't an immense pressure, but she found now that she had acknowledge it, she could no longer ignore it. It remained there, nagging at her, the simple fact that she was certain Matthew was aroused.

She didn't, however, have much experience with the situation. The only other time she had been aware of such an event had been a few heavy kisses with suitors on dark balconies during the season, and, well, the situation with Pamuk… The circumstances here shared little with the others, as all they had been doing was sleeping. Did this mean Matthew Crawley desired her? Or was it yet another mystery that the stolid walls of propriety prevented from even being whispered about to women?

She took an inventory of the situation. Besides the curious occurrence down below, his arms were wrapped rather possessively around her. His hands, however, lay folded chastely across her stomach. Slowly she slid one of her hands over his and removed it gently from the embrace, lifting it out so she could examine in it in the moonlight.

His hands were large, much larger than hers, but there was something delicate about his slender fingers. She traced the warm surface of his palm even as she studied his fingers, noting the slight calluses from writing, and from other chores, which never would have been the case if he were a proper noble man. Intrigued, though, she remembered the nimble way his fingers had undone the buttons earlier that night, and then suddenly she knew. She knew she wanted Matthew Crawley's warm hands everywhere on her, that she'd die if she didn't feel them. It was a funny thing, really, that she could desire this so strongly after how repulsed she had felt at Kemal's hands slithering across her flesh, but nevertheless, she couldn't even begin to damper this sudden desire. She felt herself warming already at the thoughts; she was certain she was blushing even, and it was embarrassing! Who was Matthew Crawley to make the collected, proper, Lady Mary blush, especially when he wasn't even awake? And yet, the more she stared hungrily at his hand, the more she yearned to feel it softly skimming the along the planes of her legs, tracing the contours of her chest, gliding from freckle to freckle across the expanse of her bare back, and sliding upward to relieve the maddening need burgeoning between her legs with its pressure… She shivered, and tried to relieve some of this infectious desire by slowly rubbing her buttocks against that incessant point of pressure between them.

She felt his breath catch, and she knew he was awake.

And how could Matthew not be awake? He had never been a heavy sleeper, and the feeling of Mary's warm, supple bottom, grinding against his arousal, the friction ever the sweeter because of the silk night gown she wore, was enough to inspire life in every limb of a dead man. He was disoriented for a moment, as his eyes opened to the unfamiliar room and the sight of muse of all his fantasies wrapped in his arms. Even now, with her warm form melting against him and her delicious derriere sliding against him _there,_ he still felt dizzy, but he had no qualms about his location.

Mary paused in her movements, and both of them lay still, perhaps trying to feign sleep for the others, but they failed; their stillness was far too great for a sleeper to accomplish. Mary turned her attention to his hand again, examining it once more, before, slowly, shakily, pressing it against her torso again. Both of them held their breath as her hand, still on top of his own, slowly slid it up her chest. Each rib they crossed served as a delicate marker on a path to a place they could never return to now, and finally, their hands paused in their journey at the base of her breast, so that Matthew's thumb was just barely pressed against its underside. He could feel the tantalizing weight of its softness against his hand, and he lay, spellbound, as they both felt their hearts pounding heavily, rapidly, in unison. Mary's hand continued then, leading his to the side of her bosom, so the tops of his fingertips brushed sensitively against the edges of the swell, and both of them felt her shiver. Mary, however, felt another surge of heat in her loins, as that impossible need at her core grew. So, with a final fortifying breath, she swiftly moved his hand so that the entirety of her breast lay beneath it, before removing her own hand.

Both of them sighed passionately at the sensation, and Matthew marvelled at the feeling of the her chest, which he had so guiltily oggled from occasion to occasion, impossibly soft beneath his fingertips, although her nipple pressed into the warm center of his palm. He squeezed her twice, feeling her body ripple from his ministrations, and then his fingers continued their exploration, sliding up and down her decolletage, pinching and pressing at the sides, his thumb brushing teasingly across her nipple before his fingers rolled it between them… They were both panting heavily by now, Mary writhing deliciously against him, and his other hand slid slightly from its position on her stomach to grasp at her hip, holding her against him despite all her erratic movement. And, despite his best attempts at composure, he found his own hips pitching forward, rubbing his erection against her bottom even as his hand continued to greedily clutch at the yielding flesh of her chest.

Their pants were starting to shift to moans when Mary's hand once again found his own, and he stilled immediately. Disappointedly, he thought she was ending this exploration abruptly as she guided his hand away from her bustier and back towards her stomach, but every muscle in his body tensed as she realized that she had bypassed the original location on her stomach and was instead leading them lower still… Finally she planted his hand on her knee, and he could feel the lacy hem of her nightgown just above his fingers. Then, gingerly, their hand began gliding up. Though they were beneath the covers, Matthew could picture every inch of the smooth, creamy flesh of her slender legs which glided below his own fingertips from his numerous fantasies. Their breath caught and again became uneven as his hand, egged on by hers, rose higher and higher, now halfway up her thigh, now three quarters of the way, her nightgown bunching above their wrists… Matthew felt himself grow harder and harder with each inch that his hand rose, and as the heat from between her legs began to radiate onto his hand. They paused, again, at the base, and then she shifted his hand directly to the apex of her legs, pressing his fingers against her, and his other hand gripped her hip ferociously because she was deliriously wet, and warm, and _ohh_, against his hand…

Satisfaction coursed through Mary's whole body as the feeling of _him_ touching her _there_ finally began to satiate her immense, aching need. She bucked against him, and although it was most unladylike, it was inexcusably pleasing. Her pleasure continued at his fingers slid back and forth against her slick folds, before pinching at that nub of unimaginable pleasure, drawing high-pitched whimper from her as her whole body convulsed. His lovely, lovely fingers continued to press and circle at her there, driving her absolutely wild. She dropped away from reality, her whole body quivering uncontrollably; her only anchor to the world was him, her only certainty the feeling of him touching her there. Her mind was sliding away, into the stars, into a world of passion and desire entirely focused on Matthew Crawley, and she began to moan louder and louder… His fingers disappeared and she thought she'd die from the loss, but then his thumb continued the ministrations, and the suddenly his fingers re-entered her world as they plunged into her.

_Oh Lord, she was so, so tight around him…_ Matthew moaned in appreciation as his fingers entered her, the unbearably warm, heated moisture tightening around him. In and out, in and out, he moved his fingers, driving them both wild. He felt her convulse impossibly tighter around him and he screwed his eyes shut in desperation to not give into the sensation. His cock, confined yet in his pants, was painfully harder than he could ever recall it being before in his life. Desperately, he slid his wet hand out of Mary, and suddenly rolled so that he was on top of her.

Perhaps Mary should have been concerned, but at that moment, she didn't have the mental capacity to worry rationally. Matthew had his pants on yet, and despite all of her middle class jibes, he was far more of a gentleman than Kemal Pamuk had ever been, and that was all the more attention she could give to the matter, because his entire solid, very masculine body was pressing her against all the right places and into the mattress. He pushed her skirt up a bit further, but made no move to open his pants, yet they both cried out as he thrust against her, placing them very forcefully center to center. Even with his pants as a barrier, the throbbing hardness of the tip of his shaft pushed insistently against her heated moistness made both moan deliriously. Matthew could feel the warmth very clearly through his pants, which were already becoming soaked from her wetness. Unable to bear the stillness any longer, he began to rock against her, reinstating the delicious friction from earlier.

Mary began to pant and moan as Matthew's hardness rubbed faster and faster against. Her hands clung at the taut muscles of his bare back, her fingernails scraping against his slick flesh as she worked to match his pace. Matthew groaned at the shivers she conjured in from the movement even as he worked more furiously at his task. Each time their centers collided ravenously, intimately, they flew faster and faster towards the edge of oblivion, until finally they were crying out, losing themselves in an overwhelming moment where only pleasure at the existence of the other could be acknowledged… they lost sight of themselves completely. As their climax slowly finished, Matthew's arms gave out and he collapsed on top of Mary, their bodies once again pressed together, chests heaving, although he was careful not to crush her.

"Well, that was… certainly something…" he broke the silence which had previously only been filled with their heavy breaths. He raised himself from her shoulder, so his face hovered centimeters above hers.

Mary observed his deliciously tousled hair, and the look of unimpaired compassion filling his impossibly blue eyes, and she knew, without a doubt, he intended to kiss her. And so Mary Crawley rolled over, away from him, because despite the intensity of what they had just shared, it no way matched the intimacy that would come with kissing him. Because kissing him would mean acknowledging who it was that had inspired such passion, such adoration, and such contentedness in her, and while Mary could perhaps, alone, in the dark, fathom the idea of loving Matthew Crawley, there was no way she could while he was awake. Because if he was awake, and kissing her, it was no longer a faraway supposition lost in the hours of midnight; it was an idea, a feeling they shared, and would continue to share in the daylight, in the real world, and there was no way Mary felt ready to handle loving anyone that way, yet, let alone Matthew Crawley, who could make her feel so impossibly safe and yet so desperately scared.

And so she turned away, trying to block these questions out, trying to go back to sleep, even as she knew it would never come, that she could never go back now.

-  
_Nothing can ever be simple for these two, can it? Next up we will see how daylight treats them._


	4. Chapter 4

_Hello, everyone! Sorry I've been away longer than usual. It's been busy with college essays due and trying to keep up with my NaNoWriMo novel, as well as the other distractions of real life. Plus, I found this chapter needed some more time, because it was a lot of sorting through emotions as well, especially for Mary. I hope I did it justice. This story now also takes place after Episode 4 in Season One also, with the famous handshake heart-to-heart moment. Alright, on with the show!  
_  
Matthew lay awake staring at the ceiling, watching it shifts from the deep crimson pallor of the night, where the darkness swallowed all their words and thoughts, to the cool, lustless greyish blush. He felt Mary's side of the mattress shift. After the debacle last night, he didn't dare to turn his head. She hadn't acknowledged his presence since, well, it happened, and he had so thoroughly botched the aftermath, he wasn't sure where in their relationship they stood… if they had any relationship at all, that was. Still, really, had it been too much to expect a kiss, or at least some words of endearment, after what they had experienced together? He was certain he wasn't the only one who felt the passion between them; she had initiated it after all! He had offered himself to her as a warm body initially. Maybe that's all he was to her…

"Here are your things, Mr. Crawley," Mary said woodenly, breaking him out of his thoughts. He rolled over to where she held his coat and shirt in her arms. Despite offering them to him, she refused to make eye contact with him… or even look at him, really.

"So I'm back to Mr. Crawley again, am I? You had no problem calling me Matthew last night," he commented, trying and failing to keep the hurt and annoyance out of his voice.

"Please Cousin _Matthew_, take your things so I can ring for Anna and be on my way down to breakfast!" she thrust his garments at him, and although he placed his hands on them, he did not fully grasp them. Mary turned to glare at him, and he returned her gaze steadfastly. Their eyes locked, not moving even to notice the contours of his bare torso in the morning night, or all the exposed freckles over her shoulders; rather, they maintained their steady focus on each other, the clothes between them, their fingertips just barely brushing.

"Mary, that's not what I meant. I could live with you ignoring me before, but now that's impossible after last night. You may not think me a gentleman, but I have morals too, and what we… what happened… I don't just… I wouldn't just do that with anybody, and I would hope you wouldn't simply believe I could walk away from that. In return, I at least expect the same courtesy."

"What courtesy? You do realize there's no social protocol, no rules, explaining how to act after what we did, for there's no space in propriety for us to act that way in the first place!" Mary argued back.

"I know! I may be middle class, but I know this isn't normal activity… which is why I thought- I at least, hoped, this was something special. That's the only reason I proceeded. Perhaps I was wrong, although I dearly hope I was not gravely mistaken. In any case, Mary, all I'm asking is that we at least talk about this."

"Fine, Matthew, I promise we can discuss this, but not now! There isn't time."

In the end, it was the use of his name that hit him in the heart, and the fact that she promised. Mary Crawley was a lady.

Mary Crawley wouldn't lie to him.

Especially not in these circumstances, because, even if she was doing her best to avoid it, he was damned certain there was something between them, that she cared about him. After all, she had put her hands on him, and encouraged him.

And so he left her room, he let her go, even as he held tightly on to her promise with no thought of ever letting go, not until they had sorted this out into something real.

Mary, on the other hand, was content to avoid Matthew as long as possible. She didn't want to lie to him; but more than that, she didn't want to have said talk with him. After all, how on earth could she be expected to divulge and explain her feelings to him- the object of her possible affections- when she couldn't even sort them out for herself?

Anna entered and helped her dress for the day, and if the maid noticed that her mistress seemed rather preoccupied, she had learned better than to comment. By the time the extravagant process was finished, Mary deemed that enough time had elapsed for a certain cousin to be well on his way home, and the coast clear for breakfast.

She entered the room, her practiced mask of emotions in place, even as she seated herself at the table silently. Her father sat curtained behind his newspaper, and Sybil was busy devouring her eggs. Thankfully, Edith must have eaten already, for she was not present. As predicted, there was no Matthew in sight- but just when she thought she was safe, Sybil started.

"Mary, you just missed Cousin Matthew!" her perky voice rang out, far too exuberant for this early.

"What a shame," Mary lamented, rolling her eyes. "What on earth was he doing here at this time?"

"Apparently he was studying the accounts last night after dinner, and fell asleep in the library," Robert answered, lowering his newspaper enough that Mary could see the proud beam on her face.

"_More likely he was drunk and passed out,_" she almost retorted, but then bit back her response. No matter how much her father's unreserved adoration of the new heir sickened her, it was worth putting up with if it meant he looked no further into the matter of why Matthew was really here. Even if it meant letting one or two good knocks slide. Somehow, however, Mary found that her heart really wasn't in the biting responses anyway. As much as she couldn't stand her father's reverence for Matthew, she also found herself less willing to put him down, especially after last night…

Oh dear. She was going soft. Mary wasn't sure what this meant. Daylight had failed to dissolve all of her convoluted wishes, as she had hoped it would; rather, the ponderings of the previous night remained fresh in her mind… as did the memory of the glorious feel of his body worshipping hers.

"Well don't despair. Papa invited him again for dinner tonight, since Cousin Isobel still won't be back."

"Oh did he?" Mary responded, inwardly panicking. Normally, Matthew visited once, maybe twice a week. Barring any chance bumping-intos in the village, Mary had supposed she had at least a good two or three days to formulate a response to him. Instead, she had meager hours. _Even when_ _Cousin Isobel isn't here she manages to be a nuisance_, she thought bitterly, rising quickly from the table. If Matthew was coming tonight, she needed all the time she could get to formulate a strategy.

-  
Somehow, Matthew had managed to slip out of Mary's room and down to the level of the library without being seen. He was finally caught by Thomas, who gave a rather disapproving look at his dishevelled hair and crumpled suit pants, but nevertheless unctuously invited Matthew to the dining room for breakfast.

Matthew had managed to refuse breakfast, but indulged Lord Grantham a cup of tea, as he hastily explained that he had fallen asleep while slaving away at estate business. Robert positively glowed at this statement.

"I'm glad that you're finally developing a fondness for it."

_Or for your daughter,_ Matthew thought, plastering an overly-exuberant smile on his face.

"Yes, well, as much as I'd like to stay, I had best be off to work."

"Wait!" Robert called, even though Matthew had barely scooted his chair out. "Is Isobel still away?"  
"Yes, I believe she will be for the remainder of the week, at least," Matthew said, frowning hesitantly.

"Why don't you come stay with us? It makes no sense for you to be all alone when you have family right here. And we'd love to have you!"

"I couldn't-" Matthew started to say, thinking of the extra time it would take him to get to work each day, but then a larger idea popped into his mind. "Why, yes, thank you. I'd like that very much." After all, knowing Mary, he would probably need all the time he could get to pin her down.

"Splendid!" Robert exclaimed.

Unbeknownst to the other, Matthew and Mary spent the day much in the same way: planning, at every possible moment, how their conversation would go. Matthew had already listed several opportunities he might fix to get her alone for it: _could Mary help me find a book in the library? Could she please assist me; I've forgotten the way to my room? I think I'd fancy a ride, would Mary care to accompany me?_

Mary, on the other hand, had contrived methods to thwart almost all of his attempts; most of these involved delegating any tasks he requested of her to a servant instead. It might, however, be trickier to elude him if her parents were around, so she'd have to simply maintain a distance, just to be safe.

Matthew believed his question pretty straight-forward: _Did that- and do I- mean anything at all to you, or were you just amusing yourself again with me?_

Mary, however, sighed heavily at the multitude of confusing answers to this.

Did Matthew Crawley mean anything to her?

She used to want him to mean nothing. The man who walked into her life and took everything from her- he could never be nothing, but she desperately wished otherwise. Therefore, she directed that something into hatred.

But now?

Begrudging the joy it brought her, she admitted, they were friends. Or at least, he was a friend to her. She wasn't quite certain she had been a very good friend to him. Something dropped uncomfortably in her stomach at the unpleasant thought, and it irked her slightly. Since when had Lady Mary Crawley ever needed friends?

Since her father had thrown her over.

Since her mother had given up hope on her.

Since a stranger from a foreign land had forced himself into her life, her room, ripped away her innocence, and died on top of her.

Then suddenly, a bright, smiling face, happy to see her, hadn't seemed quite so undesirable. Then it had started to feel nice to think that at least someone was fighting for her- the one person she had least expected, the one who had the most to lose. Then it had been comforting to feel a warm palm in her hand, and an earnest look in unbelievably blue eyes, and hear someone say to her that she meant a "very great deal."

Then it hadn't seemed so appalling to have this person hold her, his arms around her for that night and every night, and keep her safe, and make her feel special.

Indeed, Matthew Crawley suddenly seemed like a very good person to have in her life, after all.

Too good, in fact.

That was the problem.

He was always so honest; and, as her own mother had more or less intoned, Mary was a contemptible liar. Just look how she had led him astray last night. She would ruin him, as she had ruined herself.

Staying out of his life was the best the most caring thing she could possible do for him, and she owed him that at least.

_These two never make things easy for anyone, do they? Poor Mary. I don't share her views about her "being ruined" and all that, but most assuredly such thoughts would have plagued her at the time. And I felt bad abusing Matthew like that... but that's what keeps the story going, I suppose. Let me know what you thought. I love getting your reviews! I'll definitely update next week, if not sooner. Next up, the dinner. Meanwhile I'll go eat mine. Too bad Matthew Crawley won't be there..._


	5. Chapter 5

For once, Matthew actually appreciated the luxury of having a valet. Grappling still with a tricky case at the office had kept him far later than he had intended, but having phoned Molesley on his lunch break and informed him of the arrangements for the next few days, Matthew was able to set off straight to the Abbey following work, trusting that his overzealous valet would see to packing anything he could possibly need, toiletry-wise.

On his bike ride over to the Big House, he again considered the situation with his bewitching cousin. By the time he arrived tonight, it would almost be dinner, and he'd probably have to change straight away. While there was a possibility that he'd be able to talk to her tonight about the new turn in their relationship, logically he realized it wasn't likely. Her family would be constantly about for the majority, if not the entirety, of the time, and the topic of their dalliance was hardly something he wanted to share with the rest of the Crawley clan. Additionally, much to his frustration, Mary seemed rather keen to ignore the whole dilemma; reluctantly, Matthew admitted to himself the unlikelihood that they'd address the issue tonight. Although he wasn't prepared to dissolve all hope, realistically he realized he'd do better to concentrate his efforts on the coming days. Theoretically, it shouldn't be too hard to find a moment alone with her, considering he'd be living in the same house…

But this was Mary he was talking about, and she was far from certain to follow the theoretical, predictable course of action. Furthermore, although she had promised to talk about it with him eventually-which he had no doubt that she would do-she seemed apt to avoid him. He'd already been on the isolation exterior of Lady Mary's walls once, so he fully understood precisely how difficult she could make it to spend any time with him if she so desired.

This time, though, he was determined to succeed. This time he had a plan. Furthermore, this time Matthew was sure some part of Mary (a large part, hopefully) wouldn't want to keep him away.

As predicted, he did have to change almost immediately upon arrival. While Matthew habitually attempted to appear well-groomed (an effort which had increased dramatically since his arrival at Downton, first in order to displace the graceless, middle-class cousin notion, and then to hopefully attract the attention of a certain lady…), he designated extra care tonight in getting the part of his hair, the knot in his bowtie, and the fit of jacket just right. Molesley seemed all too happy to oblige his younger master the extra effort grooming; equally eager, no doubt, to impress the members of the Abbey, for his own reasons.

When he descended to the drawing room, he flustered for a moment, believing he was the last one. Sybil must have caught his anxious glance about the room, for she made her way over to him subtly and smiled, saying, "Don't worry, you haven't kept us. We'll be waiting hours yet for Mary."

He nodded and smiled appreciatively.

Edith, however, was less resigned in her tact, practically bounding across the room. "Cousin Matthew, we are ever so pleased to have you joining us tonight. And how splendid your tails look!"

Matthew returned her smile, admittedly less exuberantly, although he was still happy to see his cousin again."Thank you, Edith. You look well tonight… as well," he finished awkwardly. He'd thought it a safe comment at the time, but the radiant smile on her face immediately alerted him of the misunderstanding. Oh dear. It had been months since the fateful church visit and apparently she still hadn't quite gotten the hint.

"Edith, you know dinner's being served in the dining room, right? Stop trying to devour poor Cousin Matthew." Her voice cut through the room, and Matthew felt himself turning to stare.

Mary appeared absolutely stunning. Her dress, a light violet shade, brought out the luminous ivory quality of her skin, and the cut flattered her form wonderfully. Her elegant updo exposed more of her neck, and Matthew remembered the delicious taste of it when he had planted heated kisses there, merely earlier that day…

Their eyes caught for one intense moment, and then he forced himself to turn away.

As torturous as it was, a key part of his plan involved giving Mary the space she needed… and sadly staring at her ravenously wasn't quite congruent with that idea.

He turned away, and Lord Grantham called them all into dinner.

Mary's eyes tried not to linger on Matthew as he escorted Sybil into the dining room, but damn! it was difficult. She couldn't tell if he had made an extra effort this evening, or if the knowledge of his physical prowess from last night had increased his appeal. Probably a mixture of both. Walking behind him, Mary tried not to notice the snug fit of his trousers on his lean legs, fine hips, or especially across his firm-looking buttocks. Instead she studied the intricacies of his well-styled hair, admiring the perfect waves of his soft golden hair…

She shook her head at the lascivious thoughts as she took her seat. Such observations certainly did not aid her in her plan to avoid Matthew. Determinedly she twisted away from him, attempting instead to engage herself in conversation with her mother. I_t's just one dinner. I've sat through hundreds of these before, I can do it again,_ she coached herself.

Still, it remained impossible to entirely avoid looking at him for all of dinner, and once she had seen him, it became even more impossible to reign in her thoughts. About halfway through dinner, Mary found herself staring at his hands… those wonderfully dexterous hands, as they caressed the stem of his wineglass or gripped at his knife, or gently lifted a napkin to his mouth… hypnotized by them, she could not shake the memory of those hands grasping, stroking, loving her. A heady, unbearable heat began to course through her, and the more she attempted to ignore it, the more acutely, torturously it throbbed within her as the memories of the previous night swam before her eyes… and then somehow she found herself staring into his deliciously darkened blue eyes, and it was almost too much. She snapped her gaze away, quickly distracting herself with rather larger-than-ladylike sip of wine.

When the ladies proceeded into the drawing room first, it should have provided her some respite, but instead Mary found herself growing increasingly agitated for reasons she couldn't even understand. She had existed without Matthew Crawley in her life perfectly well for plenty of years, how dare she burn with need for him after one night? Especially when she couldn't even have him. The fact that her body was defying her firm resolution was perhaps the fact that infuriated her the most.

The rest of the females must have noticed she was in a moody state, because they left her alone to pensively glare into the fire; not even Sybil attempted to make conversation after her first two efforts fell flat. Despite her best efforts to ignore the rest of the room, Mary could acutely feel the eyes of her grandmother boring into her. Perfect.

"I hope you haven't missed us too much!" Robert exclaimed jovially, prancing into the room to the laughter of his family, and Mary watched, then deliberately tried not to watch, as Matthew followed him in. He didn't look at her first, but when he caught her staring (again), he offered her a smile, although it seemed weighed down. Unfortunately Mary was well too aware of what those issues might be. Nevertheless, Matthew was acting surprisingly more indifferent about the matter than she had expected. Indeed, his lack of care, so in contrast with his reaction this morning, baffled, and even begrudgingly pained her. She chided herself for these ponderings; they were for the best, after all… weren't they?

Imagine her surprise then when the sofa dipped as Matthew seated himself beside her.

"Cousin Mary, I hardly feel like I've gotten a word in with you this evening," he spoke evenly, his eyes fixed ahead on the fire, rather than at her.

"Well, Cousin Matthew, I haven't felt much inclined for heavy conversation this evening," she replied curtly, a sense of dread filling her. Really, though, Matthew should realize this was neither the time nor the place for this conversation, not with their watchful family swarming about.

"Oh, I didn't mean anything controversial, just a pleasant word or two. How was your day?" Matthew answered lightly, again surprising Mary. What on earth was he playing at?

"Mundane as ever, I suppose," Mary answered cautiously, uncertain where this interaction might next take them. Really, this conversation shouldn't be taking place at all, not if she wanted to discourage either of their affections. But she really was loathe to leave it… and her comfortable position on the couch… and friends could have conversations, couldn't they?

"Well, I'm sorry to hear it. Perhaps tomorrow will be more eventful. It's the weekend, after all," Matthew smirked slightly.

What was _that_ supposed to mean? "Perhaps you're right, although I'm not sure what difference the date makes. You know our people don't have weekends," she failed to keep the play out of her voice, and Matthew laughed.

"It's a pity because they're really a great time. Perhaps you should try tomorrow."

"Heavens, look at the time!" came Cora's cry. "We really should have retired an hour ago; it's criminal to keep the servants up this long!"

Mary looked around, realizing the clock on the mantel read close to eleven, and that her grandmother had already slipped away. Everyone rose with a start at Cora's proclamation, chiming in with their agreement. She started to stand.

"Here, let me help you," Matthew said, offering her a hand. Although his yank to her feet was decidedly more middle class than any of the elegant offerings of her normal circle, she found the touch of his hand thrilling, and despite herself, she tried not to blush as she thanked him.

Matthew and Mary made their way out on the tail end of the exodus; they were about halfway to the stairs when Mary called out, "Wait, has anyone asked Branson yet to bring the car around for Matthew?"

The majority of the party turned to look at her incredulously.

"Didn't you hear, Mary?" her father asked, amused. "Matthew is staying with us for the remainder of his mother's absence."

Matthew tried not to smirk at the shock on her face. Lifting her hand to his lips, he kissed it. "Good night, Mary," he said, before turning and making his way down the bachelor's corridor to his room.

_Oh dear,_ Mary thought. _In the house with Matthew for an indefinite amount of time._

Avoiding him had just become a whole lot trickier.

_sorry if it was shorter than usual. I'll make it up to you next chapter.  
please keep the reviews coming. I love reading them.  
And if you happen to see Matthew Crawley wandering around lost, feel free to direct him to my room._


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: Hello everyone! I bet you all had thought Julian Fellowes had found me, but I'm not dead, I promise! Sorry it's been such an embarrassingly long amount of time (hopefully this chapter is embarrassingly long enough to compensate). I hit a bit of writer's block, in that I knew where I wanted to go, I was just having trouble getting there... and then I had a whole lump of essays to do over break when I had planned to be writing, and they kind of knocked the wind out of me... but I'm back, and so are Matthew and Mary, so please enjoy, and do let me know what you think!_

* * *

Matthew rolled out of bed with a smile on his face. Although naturally a moderate morning person, today the day seemed particularly bright. He was at Downton Abbey, and it was Friday. Only a few short hours of work separated him from a relaxing few days with Mary. In fact, he might even see her for breakfast. With that thought he headed eagerly down to breakfast.

As it turned out, Robert was the only one awake. In hindsight, Matthew couldn't see how he'd ever supposed Lady Mary an early riser. Even this, though, couldn't put a damper on his good mood. No matter. He'd see her later.

When Mary awoke alone, with the sunlight streaming through the cracks in the curtains, she was somewhat surprised. She had half expected Matthew to come to her room in the middle of the night, especially after the smoldering look he had given her at their parting. She then berated herself for this reaction; a lady should never become used to gentlemen callers paying her nighttime visits, and especially not be disappointed about the lack of them. This just went to show and far she had fallen- and how far above her Matthew was. He obviously wasn't consumed with these salacious needs; she was the only one leading him down this path of debauchery. Feeling suitably miffed by these waking thoughts, she rang for Anna and proceeded down to breakfast, out of that room of some many questions and life-altering moments, as fast as possible.

Even with her intended haste, by the time she had finished her elaborate dressing process, it was rather late.

"Well look who finally dragged herself out of bed," Edith remarked, barely glancing up from the paper.

"What. I'm hardly any later than usual," she retorted as she took a seat.

"Please. You're the last one here. Papa already finished reading the newspaper and Cousin Matthew left for work ages ago."

"Well I don't see how that makes any difference to me," Mary brushed off her sister's comments, but inside her mind was churning. It should have been a great relief that Matthew was out of the way; again, she'd only have to worry about avoiding him at dinner, but for some reason, she felt disappointed. Mary tried to ignore the heavy feeling, unwilling to dwell on it or connect it to any of the other thoughts she had had about the solicitor recently, and instead focused on her raspberry tea.

The rest of the day passed torturously slow. Mary was torn between savoring the hours she didn't have to worry about physically running into Matthew, and longing for his return so that his presence could serve as distraction from the greater issues surrounding the two of them. Finally, thoroughly fed up with trying to make it through some lengthy Russian novel, Mary decided to take Diamond out for a ride. She hadn't had a proper one since, well, the fox hunt and the unfortunate incident, but now there seemed no better form of release from all the stifling issues confounding her within the walls of Downton. Out in the fresh air, anything was possible.

The day had been gray to start with, so it took her much longer to realize that evening was setting in than normal, especially because she had left Lynch, and any sort of practical time-keeping device, behind. When she finally came to the realization that the afternoon was slipping away, she set her courses back to the house. As the elegant giantess that was Downton came into sight, she spotted a much smaller form heading towards the doors.

A form on a bicycle.

"Blast it," Mary cursed under her breath, and quickly wheeled Diamond in the other direction.

* * *

It had been a slow afternoon at the offices of Harvell and Carter; slow enough, in fact, that the two bushy-mustached old men who ran the firm, upon noticing the animated nature of their most promising young solicitor, opted to release said young man from his duties earlier than normal.

"Thank you, thank you," Matthew smiled delightedly at his employers. He attempted to restrain the bounce in his step as he proceeded swiftly back to his office, and as he fumbled excitedly to pull his coat on over his broad shoulders, but even with all of his efforts to appear calm and collected, he failed to silence his joyful humming.

All the luck in the world seemed to continue in his favor as he managed to just get catch the early train back to Downton. As he cycled back towards the house, the fresh fall air blowing on his face, his grin grew broader and broader. Approaching the house, he was, for the first time, struck by how truly lovely, how truly pleasing, the estate appeared, and for a moment he allowed himself to indulge in the fantasy of one day being master of it. Drawing nearer, he scanned the grounds. Far on the distance to the right, he noticed a figure appear from the woods on horseback, then return just as quickly into the trees. From this distance, though, it was too difficult to make out the rider, so he pushed the matter from his mind as he dismounted from his bike and let himself into the door.

Even when he ran into Carson, who was clearly struggling (even with his dignified nature) to restrain reprimanding him for both his windblown state of dress, and the audacity of walking in the front door unannounced, Matthew remained undeterred. After regarding him distastefully, Carson led him into the library.

"Cousin Matthew! You seem to be back rather early from your, er, job," Edith greeted him rather brightly as she looked up from her book.

Matthew smiled. "Indeed I am. There wasn't much work to be done on a Friday afternoon, so they decided to give me the afternoon off as a reward for all my hard work these past few months."

"How delightful!" Edith chirped.

"I thought so as well," Matthew agreed, helping himself to a scone from the plate sitting at the table between the couches. "So where is everyone this afternoon."

"Well, if you're looking for Papa, he's off near the east end of the estate seeing to some farm business over there. Mama took Sybil into Ripon to mend her frock… apparently she ripped another one, and this one's beyond even Anna's repairing abilities. And Mary's off who knows where, galloping through the woods."

"Ah, actually, I think she might be headed in. I saw her on my way in here," Matthew responded, thinking of the figure riding on a horse.

"Hm, oh, well, perhaps, but who knows with Mary. Don't take it personally if she's not in here to greet you immediately. I swear, the only time Mary hasn't dawdled was when we were headed to meet the Prince of Wales in the garden. But no matter, I'm here!" she finished brightly.

"So you are," Matthew replied, trying to stomach the notion of Mary having tea with a prince and not somehow coming out engaged. How on earth did he ever suppose he had a chance?

From that point, he and Edith engaged in a discussion about Russian literature, which somehow managed to carry on until it was time to change for dinner.

Matthew hoped to finally catch Mary prior to dinner, but she came down last, and they were ushered in immediately after her arrival. To his disappointment, he found himself seated at the opposite end of the table, with most possible interaction hindered not only by the distance, but also by an enthusiastic Edith, eager to continue their conversation from before. He failed to meet her eye once throughout the whole meal, and by the end, was feeling annoyed, to say the least. He planned to catch her after dinner, but apparently while he was away in Ripon, being occupied, Robert had dug up some ancient tome of family history which he now found it absolutely necessary to educate Matthew upon. While Matthew was generally a huge fan of history, learning all about the hunting habits of the second cousins of the third earl already fell somewhat outside of his area of interests, even without having to compete with his desire to interact with Mary; thus, tonight, they couldn't possibly win.

"My, my," exclaimed Robert, looking up from what Matthew was sure was at least the thousandth page (and they had barely made a dent in the volume!) "I didn't realize it was that late! Cora will be absolutely livid with me for abandoning her for this long! We'll have to finish this another night, Matthew, my boy"

"Not a problem at all," Matthew replied as he stood, hoping the earl would mistake his eagerness as instead sharing the older man's need for haste. He had to practically fight his legs not to run into the drawing room, but upon entering, a heavy weight seemed to plummet into his stomach. He wasn't entirely sure that his shoulders didn't visibly slump as he realize Mary wasn't there.

"She's already gone up to bed. She was tired from her ride," Sybil said behind him, and if Matthew wouldn't have been so disappointed, he would have blushed furiously at being so obvious.

"Oh… um, who?" he tried to salvage the moment, but he was an atrocious liar.

Nevertheless, Sybil indulged him. "Mary, of course. That is who you were looking for, isn't?"

"Ah," Matthew agreed, trying and failing not to feel frightfully transparent. "Yes, I- I suppose I was. I had a… a book to ask her about… one that she promised to lend to me."

"Of course. Well, don't worry, I'm sure she'll have it for you tomorrow," Sybil agreed with a pleasant smile. Only a slight sparkle in her eyes hinted that she had further inclinations about Matthew's intentions, and Matthew smiled gratefully back at her for keeping quiet upon those.

Even so, Matthew went to bed feeling quite dissatisfied that night. Yes, he had told himself that he would give Mary space and not pressure her into an answer immediately; however, that plan had never involved completely terminating any real contact with her. He shifted his covers more fully over him and settled into sleep with the determined resolution that tomorrow would be different.

* * *

Everyone's favorite heir was nowhere to be seen yet.

_Good_, Mary told herself firmly,_ this will give me a head start on avoiding him_.

"I think I will take Diamond out for a ride today," Mary announced grandly to the breakfast table as she buttered a scone; her audience could not have been less interested. Her father merely grunted from his newspaper, and Edith muttered some comment under her breath along the lines of "good riddance." Mary was not the least bit deterred by their reactions; none of them were morning people (that was generally Sybil, although she was curiously absent today) and it wasn't like she had cared for their opinion anyways. As soon as Mary finished her meal, she hurried to collect her riding gear and set off for the stables.

Although Matthew had no real qualms about arising early for work each day, sleeping in on Saturday mornings had been his guilty pleasure ever since his school days. When he awoke for the third day in the row to an unfamiliar room, he lay contentedly in bed for a while before he reasoned out the logistics of his location. It was already quite bright out, so Matthew realized Molesley must have indulged him his habit, despite the different schedule of the Abbey. Although he appreciated the thought (he really was growing fond of the idiosyncratic man), today was one time he would have rather started the ball rolling as soon as the rest of the players. He dressed himself-it had been a while, and he didn't want to waste time trying to figure out how to summon Molesley when he was perfectly capable-and then headed down to breakfast. Lord Grantham was the only one still at the table, drinking the dregs of his tea and scanning the paper.

"Matthew, there you are!" he exclaimed cheerfully, lowering the wall of type to beam at his surrogate son.

"Good morning to you as well. Am I really so dreadfully late that everyone else has eaten and left?" he inquired.

"Oh, hardly. They have eaten, but we're hardly a bustling hive of activity. Cora's still in bed with The Sketch, and I think Sybil snuck back to her room with some book. Edith just walked out a minute before you walked in. The only one who's really gone is Mary."

"Gone?" Matthew repeated, trying not to seem to alarmed as he concentrated on spreading the jam on his toast.

"In the lightest sense of the word. She merely went out riding, although who knows when we can expect her back."

"Ah," Matthew said, affecting a disinterested manner, even as his mind raced. Mary, out riding, again? He knew that she was fond of the pastime, but this seemed a little extreme, especially this soon again in conjunction with her lengthy escape yesterday. No, she was avoiding him, he was sure of it. Today, though, she would not escape so easily.

"Very well, I think I'll go for a ride today as well," Matthew concluded.

Matthew had told Mary once, ages ago, at that first heated dinner party, that he could ride. While this was the truth, Matthew had multiple motives to avoid it today. First and foremost, asking to go out on a ride after having just learned that was where Mary was seemed suspicious, even to him. Secondly, although he could hold his own on a horse with most averagely skilled individuals, doubt entered his mind when he thought of Lady Mary. It had been sometime since he had ridden, and even if he were in top form, he could think of no end of embarrassing situations of him trying and failing to catch up to her on his trusty steed. No, he would need a different tactic.

"Oh?" inquired Robert. "Very well, I'll have Lynch saddle up a mount for you in no time."

"No, no, that won't be necessary. I meant a bicycle ride."

"A bicycle ride?" Robert exclaimed, dropping his newspaper in surprise.

"Yes," continued Matthew, feigning more nonchalant confidence than he felt. "Besides heading to work each day, which really isn't a very far distance at all, I haven't really gotten in a proper ride since moving here, to be honest. And while I will always be a city boy at heart, I have been rather keen to try getting a good look around some of the more pleasant country roads."

"Very well," conceded tentatively Robert. "I'll have William… err…"

"Don't worry, Cousin Robert, I can take care of everything myself," Matthew saved his cousin from the conundrum trying to designate duties for the servants regarding this very middle class activity with a bemused smile.

Even as he headed up to his bedroom to change, his mind was spinning away. If his suspicions regarding Mary's real motives were correct (and he was rather certain they were), she was probably hoping to use up the most possible time, and therefore engage in a rather lengthy and elaborate route around the estate. Although Matthew barely knew anything of the various paths beyond what he had seen when studying maps of the estate, he surmised that his best bet would be to take one of the larger loops and go from there. Perhaps it wasn't the most systematic or well thought-out plan, but it was the best he could do. Besides, he had time and a determined sort of energy. Nothing seemed impossible today.

In his room he changed into a looser pair of trousers and discarded his jacket and waistcoat. He considered dispensing with his tie as well, but feared doing so would send Carson into an apoplectic fit if he were caught. With a certain degree of stealth he slipped out of the house in this moderate state of undress. Recovering his bicycle from by the tree where he had left it the day before, he set off.

Although the ride was not his true mission, Matthew greatly enjoyed the venture none the less. The sun was pleasantly warm that day, with nice breeze to offset any excessive heat from the exertion. He grinned boyishly as the air ruffled his hair even as he whizzed down the bumpy country trails, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. While Matthew was mainly used to the chaotic but smooth city streets, today he welcomed the contrast (and added challenge) of the choppy yet serene paths. His tie flapped in the wind as he pedaled faster and faster, energetically fighting through resistant patches of mud, and winding around unruly patches of bushes of trees.

After biking for two hours, though, (he checked his pocket watch), Matthew realized that he wasn't entirely sure where he was. He assumed he was still on the estate- Downton Abbey was a huge tract of land, after all, but he wasn't entirely certain. Additionally, there had been no sign of Mary. Feeling a tad tired and acknowledging the futility in aimlessly trekking onwards, Matthew stopped by a large tree with a relatively flat spot underneath and decided to read for a while before attempting to regain his bearings and proceed on. He lounged contentedly for some time with a book of Keats poetry on his lap, half reading and half peacefully dozing.

All at once, the sound of hoofbeats pounded through the air; their increasing loudness mirroring that of his own heart. Trying and failing to quell his excitement, Matthew found all the sleepiness dissipate immediately from his limbs as he scrambled to his feet, brushing dirt from his pants and smoothing the folds.

Then the moment of truth was upon him: Lady Mary Crawley rounded the bend in all her glory, and he felt his breath fly from his body.

* * *

Mary was astonished, to say the least, when she turned the corner and saw Matthew standing there. At first, she believed him a tiresome apparition; she had, after all, spent the entirety of the morning attempting to escape him, both physically and mentally, and now here he was, out in the middle of nowhere, when he should be tucked away at the abbey! The audacity of it! As she remembered her annoyance, she again found the willpower to halt Diamond and come to a rest beside the man who caused her so much trepidation even as he smiled cordially up at her. She tried to ignore the inviting smile, the impossibly blue eyes, or the alluringly excessive amounts of skin that were exposed for her- the strong shape of his forearms, the inviting flesh of his neck and chest, as his tie hung rather loosely. She fought back the urge to run her hands through his soft, fluffy hair which was endearingly unkempt at the moment.

Good heavens, the thoughts he inspired.

She remembered afresh why she had so desperately been avoiding him.

On that note, she redoubled her efforts to remain aloof as she peered down at him from atop Diamond's majestic surprise.

"Cousin Matthew! What on earth brings a city native like yourself out here into the wilds of the English countryside?"

He smiled earnestly, clearly taking her jibe as a piece of humour. Mary wasn't sure whether or not she had intended it as such, but now she felt suddenly relieved he wasn't insulted, even as she fought to temper the butterflies rising in her stomach at his grin.

"Well, Mary," - the exclusion of the customary "cousin" didn't go unnoticed by either of them- "on the contrary, I was just introducing some of these more urban practices into the heart of your 'wilds.'" He gestured to his bicycle.

Mary studied the contraption skeptically. "Really, Cousin Matthew? Biking here? If Granny saw, she'd execute on the spot, if she didn't have a stroke first. You must realize it's not becoming of the future earl. These trails are only fit for horse riding."

With a strange mix of indignation and smugness, Matthew countered, "Well it's a good thing that she no longer ventures out here anymore, because I've been having a perfectly splendid time on these paths, and I can assure you, they function just as well for my sort of riding as yours."

It was a bit of an exaggeration, but the daring form of confidence which had slowly entered Matthew's veins last night was coursing through them relentlessly at this point. It was this strange drug which must have prompted him to continue, "In fact, if you don't believe me, why don't you see for yourself? I challenge you to a race!"

"A race?" Mary repeated incredulously. Heavens, he had been in the woods too long and snapped. That had to be it. How on earth was she to tell her father that his precious heir had gone mad.

"Yes, a race. Direct us to a point where the path is a bit wider, and we'll give it a go. You even can pick everything- the course, the start point, the end point- but it has to be wide enough for us to be side-by-side," Matthew expanded confidently.

_Definitely mad_, Mary thought, before considering the proposition. She had always loved a good competition, and really, she had nothing to lose… not that she would. She had been riding these trails all of her life, she knew the terrain… and for goodness sakes, she was on a horse! Even if Diamond was a bit winded from the rather lengthy amount of time they had been out already, and from her prolonged venture yesterday, there was still no way Matthew could beat a stallion on a dirt road with his bicycle. Really, if she was a proper lady, she'd reject the challenge so as not to deeply wound his pride when he lost.

_Somehow, I never quite feel like a proper lady around Matthew_, Mary noted wryly, then quickly attempted to divert her attentions elsewhere as the thought inspired several heated memories she was trying to bury. "Alright, I accept," Mary stated as she dismounted Diamond to walk next to Matthew.

They formed an odd pair, the lady and lawyer, as they strode down the path, each leading their respective mounts with excessive pride. They walked closer than proper for family members, yet the silence between them remained uncomfortably tense, and indeed, it only thickened as they proceeded. At last they reached a portion where the road did widen, and Mary paused. "Right. Does here fit your requirements?"

Matthew made a show of looking around, inspecting the road, the terrain, and the patches of the path he could see, before responding, "As long as it's good enough for you, milady. Where to?"

"See that tree there? We race to it." Mary pointed to an extra large tree, which, although around at least one bend in the path, was distinctly larger than the others.

"Sounds good," Matthew agreed, and she almost felt sorry for him. Indeed, guilt pricked at her until she remembered that he _had_ said she could pick whatever course he wanted.

He scuffed a line in the dirt in front of them, deciding his battered shoes were already too dirty for this to cause any more toil for Molesley, and both of them remounted, the excitement building.

"Ready… set…"

"Go!" cried Mary, nudging Diamond, who set off in a burst of speed, easily leaving Matthew behind. However, she had underestimated both the exhaustion of her well-ridden mount, and the zeal of her competitive cousin. Her steed slowed its trot shortly, sweat glistening off of its flanks, and then suddenly Matthew was beside her pedaling furiously, and then, as the trail took a downward turn, he coasted past her. Mary gawked for a moment- not so much at the occurrence, but at the sight of his thin white shirt flapping around his lean frame, and the way his khaki pants pulled tautly over his fit buttocks as he stood to pedal with more gumption- and then she shook herself out of it as she egged Diamond on. "Come on, old boy!" The tired creature, under his mistress's administrations, slowly regained vigor in his advances, and soon they were beside Matthew again. Neck and neck, they raced on, panting heavily, and Matthew felt a jolt of surprise as they rounded the final turn.

Of course. He should have expected something like this.

The tree marking the endpoint was only about fifty meters away now, but between him and victory flowed a small creek. Of course, there was small bridge spanning it, but the bridge was preluded by several steps, which would require him to dismount and remount to cross it. Naturally, this had to be the reason Mary had selected this course.

In his slight moment of hesitation, Mary increased her speed, bolting past him. She and Diamond veered off the path, and, in one elegant motion, soared over the creek. Rather than racing straight to the finish line, though, she wheeled to face him, once famous eyebrow raising famously to watch his surrender.

Except Matthew didn't feel like surrendering. Besides, by this point, he had picked up quite a bit of speed, and on these loose dirt roads, stopping would be no easy matter. Therefore, Matthew altered his course and pedaled even faster.

"Matthew, what are you…" he thought he heard his cousin say, but in his focus he disregarded even her as he made to jump off the bank that Mary had just left.

For one beautiful, glorious moment, he was in the air, and then it was over.

Matthew knew he was doomed immediately as he began his descent. When his front wheel impacted the side of the opposite shore, he was already bracing himself for it, and with doleful acceptance, he flew face first over the handlebars of his flipping bike. He managed to get his arms somewhat out in front of him, partially shielding his face, even as his torso struck the ground hard, all of the air completely being crushed out of his body, the force still reverberating through him for seemingly eons after, like one of the great bells in the cathedrals of London. He lay there in a daze, not moving, barely thinking, half certain his very soul had been knocked from his corporeal form, until, suddenly someone was shaking him. At first, he thought he was still experiencing shockwaves and tremors from his landing, but then he realized there were hands gripping his arms tightly, and high-pitched utterances of his name piercing the air.

"Matthew! Matthew!"

Mary, he thought, and it made him smile- a dopey, lopsided grin. Indeed, he even felt like laughing, if the prospect hadn't seemed like it would hurt so much.

As his vision refocused on her alarmed expression, he muttered, "My father would have killed me, if he had seen that."

"My father would have killed _me_, if he had seen that!" she echoed furiously. "His heir, on a suicide mission! Matthew, what on earth were you thinking? What on earth would possess you to try such a silly stunt like that!"

"I… I wanted to win… to impress you…" Matthew responded honestly, still trying to sort all of his senses now. The pain growing his arms and legs was starting to have a sobering effect.

"Impress me? Matthew! That was not impressive! That was stupid! You scared me half to death! How could you ever even try such a thing?"

"I used to be able to do it."

"You… you used to… oh dear, I really do think you've hit your head. We have to get to Clarkson as soon as possible. We…" Mary tried to rise frantically, but Matthew clutched at her arm which was already resting on his.

"No, calm down, calm down… I mean, yes, I'll go see Clarkson when we get back, but the situation isn't as dire as you think."

"As dire as I think? Matthew, you've just flown off a bicycle going God knows how fast, landed on your face in the dirt, and now you're starting to babble nonsensically about being a stuntman!"

"No need to remind me of my failures so bluntly," Matthew rolled his eyes even as he felt a blush creep up his face. "And I never said anything about being a stuntman. I just said I used to be able to make a jump like that. Back in Manchester, before I went to university, the boys at my school and I used to set up obstacles and try them on our bikes. We'd throw in beams, ramps, jumps like that… unfortunately, my parents put a stop to my partaking in the fun when they found out about it. I got an earful to no end about all the bones one could break with such tomfoolery from both my medical-savvy parents."

"And they were right!" Mary agreed haughtily, before smiling slightly. "I can't really picture you in a bike gang."

Matthew smirked up at her. "I have all sorts of dirty middle class secrets, milady. Perhaps I'm not such a dull boy after all."

"Perhaps you're not," Mary smiled back.

Now that the danger had passed, she realized that in her anxiety, she had dragged Matthew half onto her lap, and was now practically cradling his rather firm upper body in her arms, even as one hand supported his head. She felt a blush start to color her cheeks, and the more she tried to ignore it, the deeper it became.

"You have… a bit of dirt… on your face," she commented tentatively, moving her fingers to gently wipe it off of the side of his face, trying hard not to think how very much like a caress the motion was. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw Matthew swallow heavily, so she stared more intently at the offending smear of mud until she had eliminated it completely. "All gone," she said, looking back at him, and her breath caught in her throat at the searing gaze of his darkened eyes.

"Were you really worried about me, Mary?" he asked, his voice low enough to send shivers up her spine, despite the warmth of the day, despite her own overwhelming heat coursing within her, increasing the flush upon her pale skin.

"Of course I was, Matthew," her voice came out more tenderly, more tremblely, than she had intended.

He was still staring at her, and she couldn't look away, and suddenly he licked his lips, and she thought, _oh good, he feels the heat too_, even as a jolt of something suspiciously akin to desire seared through her, and then suddenly she felt how impossibly dry her mouth was, and she was licking her lips too, and he was still staring at her, but somehow he seemed closer…

And then they were kissing.

His lips were astonishingly soft.

She was kissing him.

His tongue was tracing her lips.

She was moaning in his mouth.

He was lifting his mouth closer, even as one arm behind her urged her down towards him.

Her fingers were tangling in his hair.

It was so very, very right.

"Mary…" he gasped, although he was loathe to break their lips apart, and so he kisser her again, before forming the next word, "does this… mean… that I mean… something… to you… does this mean… that there… there is an 'us?'"

And all Mary's reasons to say no flew out of her head, and even though, she thought, with a pang, she shouldn't make promises she couldn't keep, Mary answered anyways, because Matthew was in her arms, kissing her, and at that moment she could admit that she needed him, "Yes, Matthew… There is an 'us.'"

And although neither quite knew what it meant, for that moment they were both happy.

* * *

_Well, well, well... Let me know what you think. I'll try to update sooner, but I do have one final round of college essays to battle through. Wish me such good luck. Small, sentimental stuffed dogs are acceptable tokens of your well wishes. And as far as our heroes here go, you can expect to see things progressing again, now that they've broken their spell of avoidance... Remember, Matthew is still staying with them for an indefinite period of time *smiles slyly*_


End file.
